Chapter 23

Windsor Castle

Richard of Sussex and Beatrice, Countess of Lancaster, were scheduled to be married two days hence, on Whitsunday, the first Sunday in June. Windsor Castle, a favorite royal reserve since William the Conqueror's time, overlooked a verdant valley checkered with fields and meadows, currently thick with tents and pavilions. Maria had to concede that if she could have picked her marriage destination she would have chosen Windsor. Legend told that King Arthur and his knights had once walked its halls, and with its round tower, sprawling wings and colorful pennants, the castle appeared a proper home for mythical kings. Was it a tribute to Richard's nature or his feelings for his affianced that he had chosen such a romantic setting for their marriage?

Maria had been in attendance for nearly a week, which meant endless hours of miserable pretense. Pretending she was happy for the betrothed couple, and not at all unhappy over the departure of her husband, which she mentioned only if someone directly questioned her. She clung to her family, sharing a barge down the River Thames with Eleanora, riding often with Hugh into the wooded Chiltern Hills, and keeping to herself as much as possible. Today was the last day of jousting, and while she could not bypass the event, at least its ending would mark one day closer to returning home.

"Good morrow. Lady Rendell! I have not seen you since Rockingham. Isn't Windsor Castle lovely this time of year? And I must admit that Lord Sussex has outdone himself on his wedding festivities."

Maria looked up from her position near the gallery steps surrounding Windsor's lists to see Queen Isabella, dazzling in purple samite, smiling down at her. Flustered, Maria managed a curtsy in the confined space. Beyond, the grand melee, which included all tourney combatants, was readying to begin.

"Your Grace, I would not think you would remember me." She couldn't comprehend how Isabella, who came in contact with thousands of people, might remember her from a time six years past.

The queen smiled indulgently. "I have a memory for faces, Lady Rendell. How fares your son Thomas? He is the same age as my Eleanor, is he not?"

Following a few more pleasantries, Queen Isabella continued to her seat beneath a gilded canopy. Sitting sedately, she folded her hands in her lap and pretended interest in the joust, though she could concentrate on nothing but the current joyous news. Last night Roger Mortimer had escaped the Tower of London! She could scarcely hide her elation. Since the uprisings that had culminated in Thomas Lancaster's death, the most powerful of the Marcher barons had been imprisoned in the appallingly mean confines of Lantern Tower.

But 'twould take more than bars to hold that one, Isabella thought, hiding her smile behind a fan.

Lord Mortimer had escaped the tower and was now on his way to safety in Normandy. Isabella was certain of his destination, because she was one of several who had engineered Mortimer's escape.

On Windsor's field, trumpets blew, destriers thundered toward each other, barons broke lances and knocked out teeth or spilled blood, but the Queen was lost in her last conversation with Mortimer. When she'd told him every detail had been arranged the look in Roger's dark eyes had been exciting to behold.

"Someday I will repay you for your favor," Mortimer had said, and she knew he did not mean in coin. The very thought of the Marcher baron made Isabella's heart beat faster. From his many months of imprisonment Mortimer was romantically gaunt and even jail could not lighten his swarthy complexion. He possessed such a confidently masculine air that she felt pleasantly dominated by his very nearness. Like so many Marcher lords he was arrogant and supremely self-assured—a marvelous change from a husband who was more ineffectual than most women.

Roger Mortimer is all male. He looks at me as Edward never has and no other man would dare.

When her fourth child, Joan of the Tower, had been born, Isabella had been housed in the Tower of London's royal apartments and it was during this time that she had come into more intimate contact with Mortimer. Isabella found herself irresistibly drawn to him, and she had ultimately allowed herself to be enticed to participate in his escape plan.

It was not only infatuation with Roger Mortimer that caused her to act, however. Increasingly the Despensers terrified her. She counted them capable of any cruelty. Though her husband's coffers were overflowing, he allowed his favorites to treat her as poorly as any serving maid. Her royal apartments had been abominable—rat infested and with a leaking roof through which rain had dripped upon her poor newborn babe. Repeatedly, both Despensers attempted to cut back her allowance while simultaneously adding to their own multifarious holdings. Whenever Isabella pondered the Despensers or her gripple miser of a husband, she fumed with impotent fury.

But not today.

Today Roger Mortimer was free of the tower and life looked sweeter than it had in years.

* * *

Maria and Eleanora shared quarters in Windsor's Upper Ward, where the domestic quarters and king's offices were located. They were jammed in a small room with a dozen other ladies, for Windsor was packed from storeroom to tower. In the lower ward harried pages scurried in and out of the king's ceremonial apartments; an endless stream of food carts was unloaded in front of Windsor's several kitchens. Hawking and hunting parties vied for space with noble ladies and their entourages, minstrels, musicians, clergymen, and armored knights returning from the lists.

The press of people and various activities did nothing to ease Maria's unhappiness. Phillip was gone, perhaps never to return, and it wouldn't be because of any travel misadventures. Rather she suspected their acrimonious parting gave him the excuse to do what he had always intended, abandon her and little Tom.

As bad as their parting was Richard's impending marriage. She assured herself that she was merely upset because he didn't have any time for her, though that was normal with all the events surrounding his wedding. They'd only spoken once, long enough for Richard to inquire after her health and Phillip's leave-taking, though Lady Beatrice had whisked him away before she had time to answer. Maria decided she hated Richard's fiancé. Others might marvel at Beatrice's petite height, voluptuous figure and comely countenance but they were merely indulging in court speak to put a fine gloss on the truth, which was that the woman was short, fat and cursed with a face best viewed at night.

How will you enjoy waking up to that, m'lord Sussex?

On the evening following the grand melee, Maria entered Windsor's Great Hall for another evening of feasting and dancing. She had long ago become sated by food that in its variety and abundance confounded belief, and had politely declined all requests to dance.

Soon this will be over, she told herself while searching for a place to sit, and I'll be home where I can be miserable without interruption.

She heard her name called and was dismayed to see her brother-in-law and his wife coming toward her.

"Do come and sit near us." Lady Jean slipped her arm through Maria's. Throughout the past several days Maria had often encountered her in-laws, but while Jean remained unfailingly sweet, Humphrey Rendell eyed her as if she were afflicted with a pestilence.

"You look so lovely tonight," said Jean. "I've not seen a caul of seed pearls so intricately worked before. And the green of your kirtle well becomes you. Does not our lady Maria look breathtaking, husband?"

"Indeed." Humphrey contemptuously noted the cut of her gown, the lushness of her figure. "You do not appear to be suffering overmuch from my brother's leaving."

Maria flushed. '"Tis a private matter, sir, which I handle in my own way." Feeling hurt and resentful, she found a seat as far from her obnoxious brother-in-law as possible.

Across from her, Eleanora sat with Michael Hallam and their father, who was obviously enjoying the company of a chatty widow. Unbidden, Maria raised her eyes to the high table. The king and queen, all those seated at the dais, appeared to be exquisite creatures from another world. The placement of candles flattered their faces, highlighted the dazzling hues of their clothing and sparkled off their crowns and jewelry. Even Richard, who had inherited his father's plain taste in clothes, wore a rich blue velvet, a gold coronet on his head, and several rings upon his fingers. Though always handsome, tonight he seemed as breathtaking but alien as a mythical god. Maria could scarce connect this dazzling suitor whispering in the ear of his betrothed to the man she'd known.

"Does not our queen look ravishing this even?" Her dinner companion, Geoffrey Marchaut, had mistaken the object of Maria's interest. "But His Grace looks a bit glum. I wager he's not recovered from Lord Mortimer's escape. He is sending troops to Mortimer's Marcher properties to recapture him. I hold out little hope of his success, however, for Mortimer is as sly as he is dangerous."

"I know little about political matters." Maria accepted a drink of wine from Lord Marchaut but shook her head when he urged her to eat. "I have no appetite."

"I have not seen you at court before, m'lady, which has been my misfortune." Sir Geoffrey's eyes kindled with interest.

"I am but a simple country maid, sire. I am more comfortable at Fordwich or Deerhurst than at court." Maria turned away. Her head was beginning to ache. Here, surrounded by people, she had never felt so alone.

Near the dais, Robin, the king's favorite minstrel, was just finishing the last of a dozen cansos dedicated to the Lady Beatrice. He was replaced by several jesters who kept up a steady banter of ribald jokes aimed at Richard and his lady. The jests were pointed and often crude but the two were hardly novices at love.

Following the banquet's end, pages removed the tables to allow for dancing.

Maria stood to leave. Geoffrey caught her arm. "Would you stay awhile, my lady? Just one dance with me?"

Geoffrey's eyes were dark and dancing as a gypsy's. His unruly hair reminded her of Phillip's.

When she hesitated, he pressed. "You are such a comely woman, Lady Rendell. Surely, you are the most beautiful woman at Windsor, nay in all of England."

Maria laughed. Geoffrey was obviously so enthralled with the notion of courtly love that his natural good sense had been replaced by hyperbole.

He flushed and appeared so crestfallen that Maria relented. What harm could a measure of kindness cause? "I would be delighted to dance with you, Sir Geoffrey."

* * *

"You are looking especially lovely this evening, Lady Rendell. No wonder Lord Marchaut cannot keep his eyes from you."

Maria looked up in surprise. She'd been concentrating so intently on the intricate steps of this particular carol she'd not even noticed her partner. Being in such sudden close proximity to Richard left her short of breath.

"My lord Sussex." She looked quickly down at her feet, well aware of the warmth of his hand and his body as his tunic brushed her arm.

"I have been seeking opportunity to speak more privately with you, but my time has not been my own. Who would have thought marriage would prove so complicated?"

"You have no idea, my lord." She thought of her lost husband and her resultant emptiness. "Your... the Lady Beatrice is really quite... lovely. I am happy for you." She scrutinized the stone floor and her velvet slippers peeking from the hem of her gown.

"And unhappy for yourself? How are you faring without your husband? Have you had a need for my help?"

Maria's hand trembled in Richard's.

Aye. If you could have been near to ease the parting, if you hadn't also betrayed me... Unnerved by the dangerous turn of her thoughts she shook her head. When she could trust her voice she said, "My lord husband and I quarreled. I said certain things I should not have. I do not think he will ever return."

Before Richard could further question, the lilting sounds from the minstrel's gallery signaled a change in partners. Maria searched for a way to gracefully exit the hall. She had no wish to further speak with Richard. His presence was too disturbing, and her emotions threatened to betray her at every turn.

Mumbling an excuse to her dancing partner, she hurried from Windsor, out into the pleasance.

The night was lovely, cool and quiet after the noise inside. Several other couples shared the garden, either strolling the pebbled paths or seeking privacy upon one of the many stone benches. Maria looked up to the inky darkness, sprinkled by a million radiant stars. Darkness always brought out such strange emotions—sadness and longings and desires she could not understand. Darkness reminded her of Phillip. She hugged her arms together. And Richard? In two days he would be married.

The prospect pains me not at all. But if only something would remain constant.

"Maria." Richard stood silhouetted in the light from the banquet hall.

Her heart leapt. "What are you doing here? You will be missed."

"I made the appropriate excuses. My guests can spare me for a few moments."

He crossed to her, stopping when less than a hand's length separated them. He breathed deeply of the fragrant air. "'Tis a beautiful night. I think such a night doesn't suit my mood."

Her sleeve brushed his tunic. "Why, sire?"

"These past weeks have been taxing. I have never been one for much ceremony." He paused. "And sometimes I doubt the rightness of this marriage."

"Why? Everyone says Lady Beatrice is a fine match."

"And what do you say? How do you feel?"

It was as if Maria were standing on the edge of a precipice. She groped for the proper words. "'Tis the natural thing to do, of course. But once you are married I will be even lonelier. I will feel somehow that I have lost you."

"You will always have me, my lady. That will never change."

The words could be interpreted in so many ways—in friendship or in love. Maria remembered his declarations near the cherry tree and at the Leopard's Head. Had they been empty words intended to seduce her?

"I wish that were so. I wish that something or someone would remain constant. With Phillip gone and you marrying I feel so... desolate."

"I never knew my marriage would affect you at all."

"Aye. You have been a friend to me as well as my lord and..."

"A murrain on your friendship," Richard interrupted. "I don't want it. I never have. You know that full well by now."

Maria looked him full in the face. She'd known it in so many diverse moods—the face of a king, the face of a bastard, Richard's face.

"What have you wanted from me, my lord?"

He looked past her to the moon. "Your body. Your soul. Every part of you. Is that plain enough?" His head bent to her; his lips hovered inches above her own. "I know 'tis wrong of me to think it, let alone say it, and I have tried to pretend otherwise. That there is naught between us. But tonight I do not care about right and wrong or anything beyond this moment." His mouth brushed the corners of her own, then settled over its fullness.

Through her surprise, Maria found herself responding—even as she'd responded to Phillip. The intensity of her feelings frightened her. She pushed against his chest. "Nay. We cannot."

Maria bolted past him. The moon, caught in a twisted snarl of branches, broke free to follow her flight along a pebbled path, past couples lounging on the secluded benches. She'd reached her apartment in Windsor's upper ward before she was aware that Richard had followed. She ran blindly on until he jerked her arm and spun her around to face him.

"Do not, my lord. You must return..."

Richard's lips crushed hers in a brutalizing kiss. Maria struggled against him. "'Tis wrong," she gasped, twisting away.

He caught her again. Her mouth opened under his onslaught of kisses. He forced her back against the doorway to the ceremonial apartments, where he resided.

"Please do not. When you kiss me so, I cannot think."

His breath was hot against her ear. "I do not want either of us to think. Let me make love to thee, Maria. Just this once."

Not only desire marked Richard's face, but a yearning she'd never before seen—not with Phillip, not with any man. She felt her resolve melt away and as his lips brushed her forehead, cheeks, the hollow neath her eyelids, the tip of her nose and the corners of her mouth, flames of desire leapt outward from the pit of her stomach. Richard whispered her name until she was light headed and felt as if she were floating. If he loosed her she was certain she would rise past Windsor's apartments to the moon hovering among the stars.

Maria's arms crept around his neck; her fingers closed in the soft thick hair curling at its nape. Richard's hand reached up to cup her left breast. His right hand slid down her rib cage, searing through the velvet of her kirtle. His hand trailed upward to her other breast, teasing, tantalizing with its deliberateness.

"For so long now," he whispered, "I have dreamed of this moment."

Maria's mouth opened under the delicious assault of Richard's lips. As they tasted and explored each other, her limbs lightened to water. He bunched the folds of her skirt, hiking it past her calves. Intoxicating sensations, like heady wine, coursed through her, even as her mind counseled caution. She ignored the warnings. Maria no longer cared to listen to what was right or wrong, to weigh the consequences of her act. Now, this moment, was enough.

Sweeping her into his arms Richard carried her through the doorway of the apartments, up the stairs to his chamber. When he released her, he kissed the hollow of her neck, then caught her right earlobe gently with his teeth. His tongue travelled a light pathway along her jaw line, up to her mouth, outlined, teased and trailed to her left ear. Maria swayed against him, pressing every closer. Slipping her hands neath his tunic and shirt she felt bare skin. His muscles jumped upon contact.

Swiftly Richard removed his clothing until he was clad only in form fitting chausses. He moved to take her in his arms, but Maria shook her head.

"Just for a moment, let me look at thee." It was against convention to behave so boldly, but wasn't everything about this night contrary to her upbringing? Maria couldn't help but exult in the sheer magnificence of Richard's body. How could poets and minstrels praise women's anemic charms when their softness could never match the true beauty of a knight's physique? Moonlight silhouetted every hard curve and swelling line of Richard's massive chest and arms, the shadow of his chest hair against the surrounding skin. A jagged scar followed the outline of his left pectoral, slashing past his nipple.

"Bannockburn?"

"Aye."

Bannockburn meant Phillip. Maria shoved all thought of her husband aside. With her lips she traced the uneven course of Richard's scar, feeling the ridges of puckered tissue, as well as the slamming of his heart.

"Please, Maria, have you no idea what you are doing to me?"

Pulling her upright, he worked her skirt ever higher. Before she was even certain what was happening, her outer garments lay at her feet. Nothing save the flimsy length of chemise now separated them, which Richard ripped to her waist. His gaze burned a trail along the contours of her body, but Maria saw something more mixed with desire—that unsettling tenderness. More than lust the tenderness sealed for Maria the rightness of their act.

"I think this moment was inevitable," she whispered. "From the very first."

Richard carried her to his bed and settled atop her. Naked flesh met naked flesh. Though her body moved with a will of its own, Maria's thoughts remained coherent. Richard would make love to her. They would commit the ultimate sin and repent of it the rest of their lives. But it did not matter. For this moment Richard of Sussex belonged to her. The world did not exist beyond this them and this bed—not Windsor Castle, nor Phillip, nor the morrow...

"I love thee, Maria," Richard whispered as he entered her. "Until death parts us I will love no one else."

* * *

Maria crossed to an unshuttered window. Lights from Windsor's Banquet Hall, situated higher than the lower ward, radiated into the night, piercing even the darkness of Richard's chamber. Occasionally she heard a shriek of laughter, the murmur of voices. The outer world, with its responsibilities, was beginning to intrude.

Coming up behind her, Richard slipped his arms around her naked waist. She leaned against him.

Nothing has changed. When we leave this room Richard will return to Beatrice, I will soon be bound for Deerhurst, and we will both have to beg the church's forgiveness for our sins.

"Let us pretend that 'tis just you and me," Maria whispered, "and that we have forever."

"But we do not." Richard buried his lips in her fragrant hair. "Not even love can make time stand still."

He turned her around to face him. "And I do love thee."

Maria reached up to smooth the tangle of hair tumbling across his forehead. Their parting had already begun and she could not even echo his declaration. 'Twas true that no woman could be in love with two men and she loved Phillip, but she felt such a tenderness toward Richard.

Is this then the true wage of sin? Not death, as the priests preach, but the emptiness accompanying the deed? Nay. The emptiness has naught to do with the sin, but rather the knowledge of its ending. Is it sin at all? Does God really begrudge us our fleeting moment together?

If Maria were God she would be too busy admiring her handiwork, counting and rearranging the stars in her heaven, studying the face of the man in the moon to worry over the actions of two lonely people...

"You know 'tis over, do you not, my love?"

She closed her eyes. "Aye."

"Because of Phillip." Richard's voice caught on his name. "I have betrayed him and betrayed him willingly, and I must live with that. But it cannot happen again."

"He will never know. And if he did he wouldn't care. Phillip doesn't love me. He never did." Easier to justify her adultery by believing in her husband's indifference.

"You know him not at all, or you would not say that. Your husband is driven by demands and desires we cannot know. And he does love you, but love is not the end all, Maria. There are other things."

She covered her face, trying unsuccessfully to hold back her tears. Taking her in his arms Richard stroked her hair until she quieted. "You are wed to Phillip and your duty and love belong with him," he said softly. "The past cannot be changed, nor should it be. But a measure of my future, at least, will not come to pass. I will not wed the Lady Beatrice."

"Jesu!" Maria breathed. "You must. The scandal would be dreadful."

Richard smiled. "You once braved something similar and survived nicely. Besides, by lauds all of Windsor will know what we've done. I will put a fine face on the broken engagement and enlist Edward's help with some appropriate excuse. Perhaps the Scots will suddenly break the truce so recently signed, or I will be called west to search for Roger Mortimer. Whatever, we will think of something. After you I will have no other woman."

"I almost wish we had not had this time, for it makes the very thought of parting unbearable." Maria pressed against him. "Phillip will be gone such a long time, and I will be so lonely for you both. Won't you just visit sometimes for I will soon be living at Deerhurst and 'tis such an isolated manor—"

"Nay, lovedy. I will maintain a distant interest—as I do with most of my vassals. More we dare not."

They heard footsteps on the stair, the murmur of female voices. Queen Isabella and two of her maids were returning from the banquet. Richard wrapped her in a bone crushing embrace. "I love thee always," he whispered against Maria's ear.

And if I do not love you, she wondered in return, then why does our parting hurt so?